All the King's Horses
by Child of the Ashes
Summary: Sequel to At Her Majesty's Pleasure. Orihime tempts Ichigo's inner devil one too many times.


**Title: All the King's Horses**

**Warning: Non-canon.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing, I say!**

**Authorial Notice:**

**For my darling akito kyo, also known as Akyoto1 on dA. Because she thrills me silly and saved my life when I wrote Making Peace with Purgatory. She is kick-ass and I love her.**

**A sequel to At Her Majesty's Pleasure  
**

Chapter One

This was going to be a fucking disaster.

There was no doubt in his mind, of all the weddings that'd ever afflicted the populace of the damned earth, Soul Society too for that matter, theirs was going to be the worst, most ill-conceived, _embarrassing_ fiasco of them all.

Maybe they should've eloped…

Ichigo scowled out over his wedding party and the many unexpected guests.

Eyelids heavy, he was too tired to grind his teeth anymore as they uncorked another bottle, sending a cheer up from around the table. Not even the small vein in his temple possessed the energy required to twitch in annoyance. Although looking back, it'd probably just gone into hiding with his sorely mourned self-preservation instinct.

Or else, he'd just drowned all that out about twenty celebratory toasts ago.

Either way.

_Really_? These were their closest and dearest loved ones? Thirty plus heavily inebriated shinigami, a hand full of equally inebriated vizards, the occasional spiritually aware human, and one socially retarded quincy?

Damn it, they needed to get out more.

Make some new friends. Join a support group. The possibilities were endless.

Reaching up, he scrubbed at the dull ache that was beginning to form in his temple as Urahara burst into a fit of spontaneous, matrimonial blessing. Highly encouraged by the pink-clad captain beside him, no doubt.

"Ichigo-kun?"

His head jerked up to find Orihime's bright eyes on him and her brows drawing down as sweet concern etched itself across her face. She'd turned in her chair, still partly ensconced in Rangiku's drunken hold.

"Are you okay?"

He worked a lopsided smile onto his face

"Yeah," And nodding toward Matsumoto. "What about you?"

"I'm… I'm okay."

He eyed her very large, very _forced_ smile before his gaze flicked to Rangiku. More specifically, where she clasped his fiancée around the shoulders, trying to balance a full glass of drink in her other hand while slurring some out-of-tune, eighties love ballad.

Renji's exaggerated gesturing from the other side didn't help. He and Rukia bickered most of the night, and were still at it, knocking into her repeatedly from behind.

Not that she seemed to notice.

"Orihime-chan, you didn't finish your toast… It's bad—" She hiccupped loudly. _Annoyingly_. "Bad luck..."

"Ah, that's okay, Rangiku-san. I did have the ones earlier. You see, I'm very bad with things like that. Even just a little made my head dizzy."

"But your luck! Orihime! You don't want your marriage to flop, do you? Don't you want to have lots of babies?"

"Eh? B-babies?"

Orihime jerked back, turning scarlet, and Rangiku battered the air as she tried and failed to regain her balance, landing sideways on a startled Renji.

With a growl, Ichigo pulled Orihime away from the drunken woman's periphery and into his side before that negligent performance became contagious.

"Dammit, don't tell her things like that."

But Orihime was already blinking up at him, reflexive tears forming and a frown pulling at her lips.

He sighed. "There's nothing wrong with not drinking it, okay? You don't need to try so hard. I like you this way."

"Are you sure?"

Even after years, her cheeks flushed with the small compliment and he gave his first real and genuine smile of the evening, propping a heavy head on his hand. "Very sure."

Then, Ichigo glanced up and something not unlike horror dropped into his gut as the hotel staff rolled out a full cask of celebration saké.

()()()

After paying for the cab, Ichigo followed Orihime up the stairs, dropping his keys and wallet onto the side table.

"Let's never do this again."

Orihime giggled, stumbling as she toed off her shoes. He caught her before she toppled over, bracing the both of them back against the door.

"Damn. Maybe I should make some coffee."

"Yes, please." She turned in his hold to bury her face into the arch of his throat. "I need a shower. I still smell like cupcakes." Her sigh muffled into his shirt. "And saké."

"Can't have that," he half teased, inching her skirt up to drag knuckles across the silky skin along the back of her thighs. "Need some help?"

Stretching up to place soft kisses just below his jaw, she gave another easy laugh. And whether or not his head was aching or he'd been up twenty-two straight hours, his body responded to nothing more than the mere notion of getting her naked.

Ichigo groaned and pulled her closer, tracing out the curve of her spine.

"You did wonderful tonight." Warm breath puffed over his skin, raising the fine hair on the back of his neck. "You must have been practicing your patience when I wasn't looking."

"I'm sure the dozen or so shots that were practically forced on us had no effect whatsoever…"

"Those were toasts, Ichigo-kun."

"Yeah. Half the people there didn't even know that."

She pulled back. "It would have been rude to stop them. They came to wish us well."

"They came for the open bar. And because my no good, bastard father passed out fucking flyers. To our fucking _rehearsal dinner_. Damn it, when I see that—"

Orihime's hand covered his mouth.

"You said you wouldn't call him names anymore."

He scowled. "I don't remember that."

"You said you'd try."

"Must have been under duress. There's no way I'd agree to something so impractical."

She smiled, dropped her hand to press a fingertip against one of his shirt buttons until four tiny dots crossed by thread formed on the pad. "I'm nagging, aren't I?"

"I like when you nag me. Sexy as hell…"

He tried to catch her pulse point with his lips, but with one last peck to his jaw, Orihime slipped away, smiling, taking her sugary sweet scent with her. "I think I'll go take that shower now. I won't sleep if I have coffee anyway."

"_Tease_."

Orihime's eyes widened and she turned back, staring. "I-Ichigo-kun?"

"Huh…? What?"

"I—" She bit her lip and he waited. "No. It's nothing. I guess I'm just tired from all the planning."

She laughed, shaking her head as she turned and went, leaving him to puzzle over her reaction. Which was strange. Even for her.

And his head really did fucking hurt.

Scrunching his eyes closed against the sudden, debilitating throb, Ichigo slouched into the wood holding him up, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass.

These bastards were getting worse. The entire last week, it was one after the next. He'd never had migraines before, but that had to be what it was, because the whole left side of his head felt as if it'd split any second.

Nevermind any plans of jumping his unsuspecting fiancée straight out of the shower. He was going to bed. Right after he got the rest of tomorrow's notes together. And that would be right after his fucking head burst like a grape.

Vertigo swept in and Ichigo grunted, bracing harder against the door, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye, fingers tugging orange bangs—

Then jerking, he blinked awake.

Muscles clenched as he tried to stop himself from falling over, but he needn't have bothered.

He was already sitting. Sitting… Not lying.

He hadn't passed out.

_What the…_

A mug of coffee steamed on the desk in front of him and he pulled away from it, scattering papers.

"Shit."

Ichigo took a deep breath.

What the hell was going on with him? Was he really that fucking tipsy? Or just that tired? Pre-wedding jitters…?

Snatching up his work, he winced at the fresh wave of pain bending caused.

"You made coffee after all."

"Huh?" Ichigo glanced up to see Orihime leaning against the frame, arms crossed under her breasts and hands tucked into the fluffy sleeves of her robe. "That was fast."

"Fast?" Orihime smiled and tilted her head, soft concern lighting her features. "You usually complain when I take a bath. I was in there for over an hour. Are you sure you're alright?"

She crossed the room and stroked a cool hand against his cheek then over his forehead.

Smiling, he leaned back, welcoming her touch as childish as it should have made him feel. Wasn't he supposed to be the future doctor here?

"I'm fine, really, Hime. Just tired."

She nodded. "Then it's bed for you, mister."

If he'd felt better, he might have laughed at her attempt to rally a stern face. As it was, a sharp stab chose that moment to pierce his brain.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Ichigo?"

He didn't respond. Choosing instead to focus on forcing the grating pain down. It took a second, but it faded, little by little until he was blinking open eyes, focusing in on her anxious face.

Orihime bit her lip and he felt her fingers tighten on his arm. _Damn_. She was closer than he thought.

"Are you sure you don't want to go see Papa Isshin?"

His eyes narrowed.

_No. He sure as fuck did not want to go see Papa Isshin. _

That ridiculous, fucking prick.

Fingers curled into his palm as his stash of possessive jealousy surfaced, and he shunted the aggravating emotion back before she noticed, opting for an impassive scowl.

"I hate that you call him that. Besides, there's nothing to worry about." He dropped the hand that had been massaging his right temple and smiled. "See? I'm feeling much better now. Really."

Standing, he stretched, shaking out his arms.

It wasn't a lie.

Now that the maddening pain had been tucked back into the deep recesses of his brain, he felt damned delightful.

_Liberated even_.

He let his smile widen, following her cat-quiet from the room, never leaving her immediate orbit.

He'd learned quite a few tricks over the past couple years. Like how to tamp his spiritual pressure down until it was close to a regular vibration. How to soothe his dark and frequently violent emotions by keeping his thoughts in check. Even to keep his eyes inexpressive and docile.

It was something that was necessary if he wanted to slip the leash from time to time. Despite the consuming need to lay waste to the things around him, the only way to obtain his end objective was to keep the more logical side in control.

But no matter how much the surface changed. The creature underneath always remained the same.

Selfish. Cruel. Insatiably hungry.

And once it was released…

In front of him, Orihime stifled a yawn, already pulling the tie to her robe free, preparing to hang it on the door. Pink fluff slid off her shoulders and he watched creamy, smooth skin come into view.

There wasn't any stopping it until it ravaged everything in its grasp.

He would break his little princess. If he had to, if it was the only way to keep her, he'd devour her.

But even as the feral side roused, he pushed those thoughts aside. Focusing only on the moment. Only on the immediacy of what was to come.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get you something…"

Orihime's voice started to trail as she sensed the change in him, and she blinked, realization struggling to catch up with intuition. Her words cut away altogether as she pushed open the door and flipped the light.

It was the same comfortable room as always. Soft neutral colors, a plush rug and long, thick drapes. The bed was layered in comfortable blankets with mounds of pillows and the occasional stuffed animal. But what she no doubt didn't recognize, was the length of thick, manacled, black chain spread over the plush down comforter.

At least, not straight away.

He came to stand over her shoulder, smiling, soaking up her confusion and the first sparks of doubt. Her head followed the links back to where the chain secured to the top of the bed, far too disoriented by the night's saké to realize what had already happened.

Her feet shifted, wanting to leave before her mind made the conscious decision.

He draped an arm around her shoulders to hold her in place and she jumped as if she'd forgotten him. Questions filled her face, but he ignored them as his other hand reached to the hem of the robe, withdrawing the tiny, blue hairclips before pocketing them in one efficient motion.

"Hope you don't mind, but I touched up our room. Made some… _improvements_." He nuzzled into her neck as his arms tightened around her shoulders. "I want your honest opinion, sweetheart, but first you'll have to try them out."

And placing a palm flat on her back, he shoved her forward into the room.

.

.

.


End file.
